The Object Of Desire
by Beth Nolan
Summary: What would happen if the ring was not destroyed? this story explaines why there is still evil in the world.
1. Chapter 1

As the objects fell, the man stepped out from the wall of the pit onto the edge of the ledge he was standing on. The objects were falling quickly. He reached out, straining muscle against tendon, and bone. His fingers grappled with the air trying to snatch one of the falling objects, the important one. As he leaned out he began to slip, and his other arm shot out and grabbed the rocky wall of the pit. The object of his desire fell towards his outstretched hand, his other hand being skinned by the sharp rocks on the side of the pit. He strained further out, and his fingers clasped the object. The other object, unwanted, continued on it's decent into the bottom of the fiery pit. Triumphantly he pulled back into the shadows cast by the high wall, his hand clamped firmly around it. He entered into an opening in the wall and walked into a small room made completely out of rock, it was lighted by the eternal fires burning in the pit below. When he had entered he raised his eyes and glared at the huddled figure, whose feet were tied with a long piece of rope between them, lying on the floor. A look of anger crossed his face and he strode across the room, hands fisted in anger. When he reached the huddled figure he reached down and grabbed one of it's arms, yanking it into a standing position. He looked with disgusted anger upon the down turned face of the elf who had unwillingly helped him in his mission. He let go of the elf's arm to grab her chin and roughly jerk her head upward to face his. Still the elf would not meet his angry gaze. 

"Look at me!" he demanded, letting go of her chin to grab her arm and shake her roughly. The elf slowly raised her eyelids so her brown eyes glared piercingly into his. "Still brave are we? You won't be for long," He continued.

"Have you done it?" the elf asked her gaze unwavering. Instead of answering the man smirked and opened his hand to show the elf the object lying on his palm. Gasping for breath, the elf tried to step backwards from the man to get away from the object, but the man laughed shortly and quickly grabbed her arm.

"You aren't getting away from this," He said closing his hand and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a thin chain which he slipped the object onto and then placed the chain about his neck tucking it into the collar of his shirt. The elf shook her head and lowered it sadly. "Hmm, sad are you? Well if you think this is sad you will be dead from grief by the time I have finished," The man said chuckling. The elf made no response. "Answer me!" he demanded shaking her arm.

"Yes," The elf answered shortly.

"Yes, what?" the man snapped.

"Yes, Jaron," The elf answered closing her eyes.

"Thank you. That's better," Jaron said finally letting go of her arm. As soon as his fingers left her skin the elf jumped backward and sat down a few feet from the wall. Jaron rolled his eyes and walked to the back of the room. He began to pull a few large rocks out of a hole in the wall.

"Why do you never call me by name?" the elf suddenly spoke. Jared straightened and turned slowly. He glared at the elf who was now staring bravely at him from her place on the floor.

"What did you say?" Jaron asked incredulously. 

"I said- Why do you never call… me by name?" answered the elf some of her bravado fading as Jaron took a menacing step toward her.

"I thought that was what you said. There is no reason I should answer that question, and normally I wouldn't, but today I am in a good mood. I suppose there is no real reason. I felt you needed to earn your right to be called by name by me. I suppose after all your help you have earned that right. …What was your name again? Brunhilda?" Jaron answered with a smirk. The elf clenched her jaws in unexpressed anger, her fair face, normally placid, was now a story of hate. 

"You know what my name is," She answered crossing her arms across her chest. She waited for several minutes during which no one said anything. Jaron shrugged and started to go back to clearing the hole in the wall. "My name is Fiorwen," she finally said grudgingly.

"Very well, Fiorwen. Go against that wall, and then I might remove those ropes around your feet when I'm done here." Jaron said laughing.

"What are you doing?" asked Fiorwen not moving from her spot.

"You ask me what I am doing? How dare you! Get against that wall and stay there." Jaron said glaring at Fiorwen until she stood, meekly moved to the wall and sat down with her back resting against it's coldness. Satisfied, Jaron turned around and continued removing rocks from the hole. After a moment he had all of the rocks cleared and he turned around and walked over to the watching elf. "Well, get up. Come on. Hurry up," He demanded, angrily grabbing Fiorwen's wrist. She stumbled to her feet in his hurry, and glanced at her tied feet. "After we get out of here." Jaron replied to her unspoken question. He dragged her to the back of the room and shoved her at the hole, while holding on to the trailing belt of her dress. She started to gracefully climb through, but then sliced her arm open on a protruding rock when Jaron gave her an impatient shove. He scrambled out after her, never loosening his grip on her belt. He gestured impatiently at the tunnel ahead of them as she used the hem of her dress to try to stop her arm from bleeding. She glared at him, he sighed, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She snapped it from his hand and, using her teeth and her other hand, she tied it around her arm to keep pressure on the cut, and to keep the sides of it together so it would heal properly.

"I need my herbs," she stated when she finished tying and glanced up at Jaron.

"Well, we need to get out of here then. They are on the horse. I did not bring them." Jaron replied shoving Fiorwen roughly into the tunnel then following himself. They slowly felt their way along the pitch black tunnel. Fiorwen stopped several times to gather her bearings and rest, but was forced to keep going by a sharp kick to the ankle by Jaron. After an hour of walking in the dark, steep tunnel they arrived at an entrance to another rock room, awash with sunlight. Pushed forward by Jaron, Fiorwen was suddenly blinded and she stumbled forward and fell onto the hard ground. Jaron let go of Fiorwen's belt, and stayed in the tunnel's mouth until his eyes adjusted to the change in light. He stepped out into the light and stood over the elf.

"Get up," He ordered nudging her with his foot. When she did not respond he dragged her up by the arm. Fiorwen's eyes were still closed when Jaron pushed her towards the side of the room where there were gouges cut in the completely vertical wall. "Let's go," he said impatiently, shoving her roughly into the wall. Fiorwen groaned softly as her body made contact with the rocks. She rested her head against the wall for a moment before slowly opening her eyes. Jaron was impatiently tapping his foot on the floor when she finally pushed herself away from the wall. She turned to face Jaron. "Climb. …Now," Jaron ordered staring at the elf. Fiorwen turned and looked at the wall. She raised one hand and put it in a cut in the wall. She placed a foot in a lower one. She raised her injured arm and placed that hand in a groove as well. She tried to pull herself up enough with her arms to get her last foot in a groove. She gasped in pain and collapsed backward, off the wall and into Jaron. Jaron growled at her and pushed her into the wall again. 

"Stop faking. Your arm is fine. Climb," Jaron grunted as he pushed her.

"I'm not faking! I really can't use it," Fiorwen said desperately holding the bloody injured arm to her chest. Jaron groaned and grabbed the elf around the waist. He lifted her effortlessly and held her there until she put her uninjured hand and both her feet into grooves in the wall. 

"Now climb. Just don't use that one arm. I won't let you fall. You are too valuable right now." Jaron said squeezing her waist hard. Fiorwen painstakingly climbed up with one arm. Jaron impatiently started to climb right after her and every time she began to fall he stopped her by pushing her flat against the wall with an angry growl. When Fiorwen finally reached the top of the wall she hooked her one good arm over the lip over the wall and pulled herself out of the rock room into the open air. She scrambled up and then lay on the grass panting while Jaron pulled himself out. He lay face first on the ground for a moment, then heaved himself to his feet and looked at Fiorwen.

"Get up. …Come on, we need to get the horse and go to Lothlorien." Jaron said bending over and shaking Fiorwen's shoulder. She groaned faintly and rose to her feet. Again Jaron forced Fiorwen to lead the way, this time as they walked down to the place where they left the horse, gripping her belt tightly. When they reached the horse Fiorwen collapsed to the ground unconscious, blood from her arm dripping from the soaked through handkerchief. "Blast." Jaron stated glancing at the pale elf. He released his hold on her belt and walked over to the horse. He opened the pack that was strapped to the animals side, and removed a large engraved silver box with a sparkling ruby on each side and on the top. It was held closed by a delicate looking clasp and lock. Jaron tried to open the box but the lid would not budge. He rummaged through the saddlebag looking for a key, but found none. He then tried to break the lock, but instead almost sprained every muscle in his hands. Jaron thought for a few minutes before he spoke, "I've looked everywhere except on your person. …I wonder…" He finished speaking and placed the box on the ground next to the horse. He walked over to the deathly pale figure of Fiorwen and bent over…


	2. Chapter 2

            As Jaron bent over he stretched a hand toward the waistband of the elf's' dress. He hesitated for a moment and then plunged his hand into the almost invisible pocket by Fiorwen's left leg. At first it seemed to Jaron that there was nothing in the pocket, but as his fingers probed the depths the tip of his finger met cold metal and he withdrew hid hand from the pocket in surprise.  Licking his lips he quickly put his hand back into the pocket and grasped the metal object. Jaron withdrew it and held it, studying it for a minute. It was a very small, delicate looking key, just the right size for the silver box, but it looked to be too delicate to separate air, never mind turn 'bolts'. Jaron turned from Fiorwen and walked back to the box, which was lying, on the ground. He stooped and picked it up, turning it so the lock faced his chest. He fitted the little key into the lock and turned it gently, hardly daring to breathe. The lock fell open and he lifted the lid of the box. The sight that met his eyes was one to take your breath away. Inside the box were rows and rows of glass and crystal jars which contained herbs and plants. The box was not big on the outside but on the inside it seemed to be as big as a travelers chest. Surprisingly, it did not weigh more than a pound. "Elvin magic," whispered Jaron to himself wonderingly. He scratched his neck as he tried to remember which herbs were for healing open wounds. After a moment he selected two jars, closed the lid of the box and relocked it. Jaron then slipped the small key into his own pocket. Crossing over to the motionless form, Jaron knelt by he injured arm and gingerly untied the handkerchief, trying to keep his fingers out of the worst of the blood. He opened one of the bottles and dipped his finger into its contents. Grimacing, Jaron withdrew his finger, now covered in a brown pus-like substance, he reached down and smeared the substance directly into the wound. A small whimper escaped the lips of Fiorwen, and when Jaron looked up, her face was drawn in pain. One corner of Jaron's mouth rose into half of a malicious smile. He eagerly dipped his finger into the bottle, and smeared more of the pain-causing substance into Fiorwen's wound. When once again the substance made contact with her open wound Fiorwen whimpered, louder this time. Jaron, who was intently watching her face, could not keep his thin lips from curling into a demonic smirk. Suddenly he blinked and shook his head, his face relaxed into it's normal, non-smiling state. He quickly opened the other bottle and looked inside it. With a sigh of relief, he began to shake some of the orange powder, that was inside the jar, into his hand. Suddenly Fiorwen moaned aloud and seemed to stop breathing. "Puka," Jaron swore, and placing the bottle on the ground, he put a handover the elf's mouth to check for the movement of air. He quickly sat back and grabbed the bottle when he felt a slight trickle of air coming from Fiorwen's nose. He quickly poured some of the powder into his hand and then closed his hand into a loose fist, he placed his hand over her wound and let the powder trickle out slowly. He moved his hand back and forth so the powder would cover all of the wound. When he had finished he closed his eyes and whispered, "Come back to the light, Fiorwen, daughter of Elured. It is not your time to cross to the Halls of Mandos. By the Three Rings granted to elfin kings I call you back from the Darkness of Death into the Light of Life," When he had completed the ceremony he opened his eyes and looked at Fiorwen. Her color was a little better, but she still did not move. He sighed and decided to leave her there while he put away the herbs and took down his bedroll. They would have to stay here tonight; he resigned himself to the fact sighing grumpily. 

            Jaron unlocked the silver box, and placed the bottles back into their spots. He then relocked the box and returned it to the saddlebag on the horse. He once again placed the key in his own pocket.  He reached into the saddlebag and pulled out a rolled up thick cloth. He walked slowly back to Fiorwen while unrolling it. He began to fling it over Fiorwen's prostrate body when suddenly he hesitated, and a look of evil hatred came over his face. He turned purposely from the elf and placed the cloth on the ground. He threw himself on it, rolled himself in it, and then sat up. He sat that way for several minutes glaring at the elf. Suddenly he shook his head, as if to clear it, and the evil look faded from his face slowly. He furrowed his brow and then lay back, closing his eyes. Soon he was asleep even though the sun was still shining down. 


	3. Chapter 3

            When the sun was beginning to set behind the peaks of the mountains, Fiorwen began to stir. She moved her head and then opened her eyes slowly. She was looking up at a pink and purple sky, completely relaxed. Suddenly she remembered her situation. She stiffened visibly, if anyone except the horse had been watching. Slowly she raised her head and scanned the area for Jaron. Not seeing him she raised her arm to look at it. When her eyes fastened on the spot where the gash used to be, she gasped. It was healed to perfection, only a thin, uneven silver line, maybe less than a quarter of an inch wide, stretched from just above her wrist to just below her elbow, remained to testify to the fact that she had, at one point, received a mortal wound there. She raised her other arm and ran her fingertips over the slightly raised, shiny silver line that would remain with her for the rest of her days, never fading, never shrinking, always there, a constant reminder. She lowered her head and arms and propped herself up on her elbows. Her thoughts raced, stopping to linger lovingly on a plan of escape. Then she saw the figure of Jaron lying at her feet. 

Her thoughts jerked away from plans of escape as if they were a hot potato. She slowly lowered herself back down into a lying position, and was about to put herself into a self-induced sleep[1] when she realized that Jaron was not sleeping next to her as usual. Jaron knew how to stop her from going into the elfin coma, and he made sure she could not go into one by sleeping with his iron ringed hand bound to her head. The only time his iron ring was not touching her head was when they were up and awake. Cautiously she opened her eyes, the sky was now orange and red. Slowly she sat up and poked the figure of Jaron with the tip of her foot. Jaron mumbled and then began to snore. The corners of Fiorwen's mouth turned up slightly as once again her thoughts raced to plans of escape. She had, for the first time, choices. She could put herself into the elfin coma and hope that he would leave her there, or take her with him and then hope he might die after a year, or that he would tire of carrying her unconscious body around, and leave her someplace. She could try to make a run for it now, take his horse and make for Rivendell or Lothlorian to warn the elves. She could steal the ring from him and take it back into Mount Doom and throw it from the ledge into the pit, then either stay with him or escape. Fiorwen glanced at the sky, now red and purple. Then she glanced down at her feet. They were still tied. She reached down, and  quickly had the multiple knots undone. She stood and stretched. She looked at Jaron for a brief moment, before making up her mind. She turned and ran for the horse. It would be suicidal to try to steal the Ring. He would either wake up and kill her, or he would kill her after she destroyed the Ring. She would flee towards Rivendell. She reached the horse and threw herself on it.

"Fly, like the wind," she urged the animal in a whisper as she grabbed it's reins. The animal whirled and took off, galloping down the side of the mountain. As the animal turned it released a loud nicker that ricocheted off the high walls of the mountains. The combined amplified noise of the crashing hooves and the horse nickering woke Jaron from his deep sleep. He jerked to his feet stumbling over the blanket his legs were tangled in. Cursing, he shouted after her.

"Damn Elf-Dwarf[2]! I'll get you. Sometime, I will get you!" by the time he had finished his statements, Fiorwen had vanished from view. "She's going to help me finish this. I an going to get her," he stated. His faced seemed to be etched in granite.

  


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[1] Elves can put themselves in deep sleeps, a bit like a coma, if they feel the need is necessary. While in this sleep they are aware of everything going on around them, but they can not be woken up. Their heart and breath rates slow while in this state. This has served as a protection tactic for many an elfin prisoner of war. While in this state they can not speak, hence they can not reveal any secrets. This is known by few, but, An elf can be prevented from going into this state by placing an iron object on the elf's forehead, or sitting the elf up(they can only do it if they are lying down flat). Once in this sleep there is no way to wake the elf out of it. Elves can stay in this coma-like state for up to a year without suffering any side effects. After this time is up the elf must rouse in order to eat and drink, but after one meal they can once again place themselves in the state for another year. This process can go on indefinitely. The record was 21 years.

[2] The biggest insult to an elf is to be called an Elf-Dwarf.


	4. Chapter 4

            Fiorwen's tangled, sweaty hair flew out behind her as the horse ran with all it's might. When they were about three fourths of the way down the mountain she gently urged the horse to slow, and gradually he complied. "Good Boy," she said patting his neck. Fiorwen looked around and when she had gathered her bearings, she urged the horse into a gallop once again. A half-hour later they arrived at the based of Mount Doom. The ground was barren and the few trees that remained looked as though they had been burned. Tears of sorrow and hate filled Fiorwen's eyes, and she leaned closer to the neck of the horse, urging him faster. It was growing dark, and she was afraid to continue to travel, for everything looked different at night when one is in a hurry and scared. And she could not afford to make any mistakes, or get lost. She reigned in the horse and slid off him. She stood patting his neck and thinking. Finally she turned to the saddlebag and withdrew a blanket. She lead the horse over to one of the burned trees and tied him to it. 

"I'm sorry. There is no grass here for you," she spoke stroking the horse's neck. She untied the saddle and saddlebags, trying to make the horse more comfortable for the night. Sighing she turned away and wrapped herself in the blanket. She lay down next to where the horse was standing, his head bowed. Somehow she managed to fall asleep, the smog from mount Doom blocking the tiny pricks of light from the distant stars.

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            Fiorwen woke with a start, and she rose her hand automatically to swat Jaron to make him remove his hand from her head. When her hand meet nothing she remembered…

~Well this is all I have so far, but I wanted to update. Please R/R. Hope you like it.


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